


A Time of Rejoicing

by KathyG



Category: Zorro (TV 1990)
Genre: California, Education, Gen, No Slash, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 16:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6666124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyG/pseuds/KathyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this pre-Zorro story, as confirmation approaches, can Felipe, now 13, and his classmates help a schoolmate of theirs regain his cherished dream?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time of Rejoicing

Felipe sat in a circle with his schoolmates in the de la Vega barn, listening to the teacher as she assisted another boy with his arithmetic problem. Next to him, Julio de la Reales sat silently, his slate resting on his velvet-clad legs. Tomaso, who worked for the de la Vegas as stable boy, sat on the other side of Felipe, slouched, sandwiching his slate between his hands. Don Alejandro de la Vega, Felipe’s _patrón_ , stood in the corner, watching. Don Alejandro was a wealthy landowner who lived two miles from Los Angeles. 

All the students sat on hard-backed chairs arranged in a half-circle in the barn, where the spring term of school was being held. Behind them, the afternoon sun poured through the open doorway, forming a rectangle of light on the hay-strewn barn floor. A cool spring breeze wafted through the barn. Felipe resisted the urge to fidget on his chair’s hard, unyielding surface. It was early June, 1820, and his final term in the mission school was drawing to a close. 

“Nine times nine equals 81,” the boy said. 

The teacher nodded, then turned to Felipe. “What is 16 divided by four?” she asked, turning her face toward Felipe so he would be able to read her lips. Since the 13-year-old houseboy was totally deaf as well as mute, he had to read people’s lips to understand what they were saying. 

Felipe wrote the problem on his slate, then figured the answer. He held it up for the teacher to see: “Four.” 

The teacher nodded again. “Correct. The answer is four.” She paused as a _vaquero_ entered the barn with a dripping pail and as Don Alejandro left. “All right, children, time for recess.” 

The children scrambled to their feet and rushed outside. As Felipe, scampering out the entrance into the bright sunshine, paused to watch his schoolmates, he remembered the first day he’d attended the mission school in August, 1816, when he was just eight. Fifteen other children had been enrolled in the school with him for that term. Ten of them had been peasants, and the rest had been the sons and daughters of _caballeros_. Another set of students--also numbering 15--had been enrolled in the spring term, several months later. Felipe scratched his neck as he reminisced. Usually, the next term began in February and lasted till April, but circumstances in the _pueblo_ had made it necessary for the _padre_ to postpone this term till early March. 

As of the current term, all the children of _caballeros_ who had started the class with Felipe still attended--and would continue to until their rapidly-approaching graduation, just days away. (Their confirmations would follow soon afterward.) But only twelve peasant boys and girls altogether from the original class still did so--six from the fall term, and six from the spring term. Felipe himself worked for a _caballero_ \--Don Alejandro, whose only son was away in Madrid attending college. Felipe had worked as the de la Vegas’ houseboy since he was seven years old. That was probably the only reason, he knew, that he’d been able to stay in school this long, and to receive so much book learning outside of school; had he been living with a poor farmer, there would have been no access to books, and his education at the mission school might have been cut short. The other peasant children weren’t so lucky as he was. 

Normally, Felipe attended the mission school from August through October. For the first few years, he had initially attended both terms to catch up, since he had gotten such a late start in doing so (the average student first enrolled at the age of five); then he had started attending only the fall terms. However, because the priest wanted to graduate both sets of classes together, to make room for the new students next fall, he had decided to teach both groups during the spring term now in progress, and to postpone the enrollment of new students till next fall. Therefore, the school currently had almost the same number of students now that there had been when Felipe had first enrolled in the mission school. Had all the students stayed enrolled, there would be over 30 students getting ready for graduation, Felipe knew. There was a total of 22 students in school now, 10 of whom were the sons and daughters of _caballeros_. 

_Most of them had to drop out,_ Felipe thought, thinking about the other peasant children. _They were needed at home, to help with the chores._ He shook his head and glanced at the cloud tufts drifting across the sky--he couldn’t help but feel that they’d missed out. He watched one boy, Pablo Santiago, rush toward the side of the rock barn, 2nd Reader in hand. Pablo slid down the huge, rough rocks that comprised the wall toward a sitting position, then crossed his legs. Flipping the reader open, he held it up before him. Sitting slouched, he fixed his eyes on its pages. Felipe smiled at his friend’s obvious enthusiasm for reading and book learning. 

_We haven’t done reading for several years,_ Felipe thought. _When we finished the 2nd Reader, we studied writing and spelling. Since then, we’ve been learning math. Counting, addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division._ He sighed. _I already know all the math our teacher’s teaching us--it’s so boring! I wish she’d teach us something new, but she has to teach us peasants. The others don’t get to learn at home, as I do. Only the children of_ caballeros _._ Felipe knew that was the reason the teacher limited the lessons to the beginning skills--so the other peasant children would get a chance to learn what their impoverished, illiterate parents couldn't teach them. 

For a second, as Felipe leaned against the wall, watching his friend, he wished that Don Alejandro’s son, Don Diego, could be there to see all he was learning. Since 1816, Don Diego had been at the University of Madrid, majoring in science, studying for his diploma. It wouldn’t be long, now, till he graduated, then he would come home to stay. 

_I wish he could be here now,_ Felipe thought. _To see me get confirmed._

Shrugging, Felipe trotted toward the other boys, now gathering in clusters to play at fencing. “Felipe!” Tomaso yelled, tossing him a wooden sword. “Come on--you got to help me and Julio win this war!” He faced Felipe so that the deaf boy would be able to read his lips. Laughing silently, Felipe joined Tomaso and the other boys. He gripped the wooden sword in his right hand and raised it in the air. 

For the next several minutes, the boys pretended to be divided into two armies fighting each other. They play-fenced with one another and pretended to shoot each other with twigs they used as muskets. At one point, as Felipe paused to wipe off the beads of perspiration rolling down his forehead, he saw Pablo out of the corner of his eye. Pablo had raised his head to watch the game; he winked at Felipe, who grinned back. 

Felipe turned to Tomaso and signed his intention to invite the boy to join their play. Tomaso and Julio glanced at Pablo, then wrinkled their noses. “He won’t want to play,” Tomaso said. “All he wants to do is read.” He looked away as Miguel, head _vaquero_ , led a horse past the children. Miguel nodded toward them, then mounted the horse and rode off. 

“Thought maybe he was goin’ to tell me to help him,” Tomaso muttered. Tomaso worked as stable boy for the de la Vegas, to help support his family. He took his orders mostly from Miguel. 

Felipe grinned. He knew that Miguel wouldn’t interrupt the children’s lessons; Don Alejandro had forbidden that. He raced toward Pablo, Tomaso close behind his heels, to extend the invitation. Julio stayed behind to chat with one of the other young _caballeros_. 

“Come on, Pablo!” Tomaso waved toward the other children. “You can read any time--let’s play!” He beckoned to Pablo. 

Laughing, Pablo leaped to his feet, dropping his reader. _“Si!”_ He raced with the other two boys toward the game being played. 

When they had joined the other children, Felipe tapped his shoulder, then signed a question. Pablo nodded. “ _Si!_ I sure am! When I get confirmed, I’m goin’ to come back and be a boarder. Then I can learn the other stuff the school teaches.” He grinned broadly as he spoke. 

Felipe grinned back. He, more than most of the other children, understood how Pablo felt. He tossed a toy sword to Pablo and pointed his own at the other boy’s chest. 

Minutes later, when the children re-entered the barn to start their carving lesson, Padre Bernardo trudged through the entrance with the catechism clasped in his hand and a sad look etched on his wrinkled face. His rosary dangled from his neck, as it typically did. 

_Uh-oh,_ Felipe thought, as apprehension welled up in his heart. _What’s wrong?_ Folding his hands across his waist, the priest looked from one child to another, then fixed his gaze on Pablo. 

“Pablo, your mother is waiting in the front garden.” The priest looked at the startled, obviously apprehensive boy who looked up. “Your papá’s just been arrested for not paying taxes. Your mother wants you to come home.” 

As the other children gasped, Pablo, with a white, stricken look on his face, slowly rose to his feet. He gathered his reader, his slate, his slate pencil, and his pail, then paused to look at the other children. “I’ll be back,” he said, setting his jaw. “I will!” 

“Of course you will.” The priest laid a hand on his shoulder. “We will pray that the Lord will make a way, my son. You’d better go now; your mamá’s waiting for you.” With evident reluctance, Pablo handed his books and slate to the _padre_ , then left, clutching the pail. 

As Felipe watched his friend trudge out of the barn, shoulders slumped, hay crackling under his woven-leather sandals, rage welled up in his heart. He bit his lower lip and shook his head. How could the _alcalde_ do this? It would probably be a long time before Señor Santiago was released from jail; now Pablo would never get to finish his schooling! The _alcalde_ had ruined everything! 

_It’s because of the_ alcalde _that I can’t go to town anymore, either,_ he thought, scowling. _Don Alejandro won’t let me, because he’s afraid the_ alcalde’ll _arrest me! That’s why we have to come here to go to school now. That’s why the priest comes here to hold Mass and confession for us._ He sighed. _I’m still better off than Pablo, though. If it wasn’t for Don Alejandro, I wouldn’t be able to read. Pablo doesn’t have anyone at home to teach him, so if he can’t come back here, he’ll never get to finish!_ Shaking his head, he bit his lower lip. He glared at the flood of sunlight pouring into the barn. 

Felipe himself had not had the chance to learn to read or write, either, when his parents had been alive. Although he no longer remembered who they’d been, he knew that, as Mexican _peons_ , they had not been able to so much as recite the alphabet or read numbers. Their focus, he knew, had been on teaching him to do his chores, to be a good boy and a good Catholic, and to eventually be a good farmer. The de la Vegas also taught him those things--Don Alejandro sent him to the weekly catechism class when the mission school was not in session (or had, until Don Luis Ramon had taken his position as _alcalde_ \--now the priest taught the class its catechism at the de la Vega _hacienda_ ). Also, Don Alejandro required Felipe to perform a farm chore once a week, for two hours at a stretch. (He had required the same thing of his own son, until the week Diego had left for Madrid.) In addition, he required Felipe to accompany him on his regular visits to the tenant farms. He had made his own son do the same thing. 

In addition to all that, Don Alejandro had taken it on himself to give Felipe the education of a _caballero_. With the help of Don Diego’s old tutor, Jonathan Spencer--who taught Felipe science--the aged _don_ had been teaching the servant boy everything in the books. He had also taught Felipe art and sculpture, and how to play chess; his head _vaquero_ , Miguel, had taught Felipe how to ride and how to train horses. And Don Alejandro had taught Felipe the manners of gentlemen, especially their table manners. He had taught the boy to swim, as well. When Don Diego returned from Madrid, he was going to teach Felipe to fence, the boy knew. Maybe Felipe would learn to shoot, too! The young boy smiled at the prospect, in spite of the pain he felt for Pablo. 

_It’ll be fun to learn to fence,_ he thought. _I can’t wait till Don Diego starts teaching me!_

Felipe knew that most peasant children couldn’t even dream of getting such a chance as he was being given--those who were lucky enough to attend the mission school were only taught the rudiments of reading, writing, spelling, and arithmetic. In addition, they were taught some crafts and the catechism. The vast majority of peasant children didn’t get to attend at all, and their parents were too illiterate, themselves, to teach them. All they got to do was to attend the weekly catechism class, where the priest taught the tenets of the faith orally--no reading or writing was involved. They would probably grow up unable to read or write anything, because their parents saw no value in book learning. Only a small number did. Pablo’s parents were among them. 

Even though Pablo’s parents couldn’t read or write, either, Pablo was one of the children lucky enough to attend the mission school, since his parents thankfully did see the value of learning. And he had long spoken of his dream to become a boarder after his confirmation, so he could learn more and more; his parents had supported that dream. It hurt Felipe deeply that his friend’s dream of further schooling should now be in danger because of the _alcalde’s_ greed. 

Felipe could understand the bitter disappointment that Pablo must have been feeling at that moment. For so long, he had yearned to finish his education as a mission school boarder; he and his parents had worked and dreamed of this for years. Now, because of the _alcalde’s_ cruelty, the boy’s dream had been crushed. It just wasn’t fair! 

_Pablo has wanted to finish his education for a long time,_ Felipe thought. _He was always talking about it. He’s such a good student, so I know he could do it. Why did the_ alcalde _have to arrest his father now?!_

Felipe straightened his back and squared his shoulders. Pablo’s dream would not be destroyed if Felipe could help it! _I’ll help him,_ Felipe silently vowed. _Surely there’s something I can do! But what?_

He froze, startled, as a schoolmate tapped his shoulder--it was time for the lesson. Felipe had to start carving a figurine out of one of the blocks of wood lying scattered on the long table. When he had finished, he would have to paint it with homemade dye. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. _I’ll talk to Don Alejandro--he’ll think of something! Maybe he can get the_ alcalde _to let Señor Santiago go._

If anyone could help Pablo, it was Don Alejandro. Of that, Felipe was certain. Don Alejandro could do anything! He could help the boy’s father get out of jail so that Pablo would be able to return to the mission school. Smiling at the thought, the young boy made the sign of the cross, then picked up the rough-edged wooden block nearest him and a small steel knife. The catechism lesson would follow the carving lesson, then school would let out for the day. Felipe would share Pablo’s predicament with Don Alejandro then. 

When school let out, two hours later, Felipe said good-bye to his friends and rushed toward the house. As he darted through the kitchen door, he nearly collided with Maria, the cook. 

“Watch where you’re goin’!” she scolded. “The _patrón_ has hurt himself, so I’ve got to get this ready for him.” She held up a container of mustard poultice as she spoke. Its bitter fumes wafted toward Felipe’s nose; he made an involuntary face at the smell. 

Felipe froze, staring at the poultice. Don Alejandro hurt? He touched Maria’s shoulder, a stricken look etched on his face. 

Maria smiled. “Don’t worry.” She took a deep breath. “He just sprained his ankle; that’s all. He fell off his horse a half-hour ago; the doctor’s with him now.” 

_Where?_ Felipe signed. 

“In his quarters.” 

Nodding, Felipe left the kitchen and hurried toward Don Alejandro’s suite of rooms. He found the elderly _caballero_ lying on the soft bedspread, his bandaged ankle propped on a plump pillow. Dr. Hernandez, dressed immaculately as always in his black frockcoat, was closing his black bag at the foot of the bed. Felipe hurried up alongside him to find out what the doctor was saying. 

“You’ll have to stay off your foot for the next week or so,” the doctor was telling the aged _don_. “It’s a severe sprain, and it’ll take some time to mend.” Don Alejandro nodded, evident reluctance on his face. Felipe knew that he hated to lie around for any length of time; the elderly _caballero_ had always preferred to stay active and busy. 

Without looking at Felipe, the doctor strolled out of the room; Felipe approached his _patrón_. Don Alejandro smiled at him wanly. “It’s not so bad.” He patted the side of the bed; Felipe perched on the edge. The mattress sank underneath him as he adjusted his position. “I’ve had sprains before; they usually mend pretty quickly.” He gazed at Felipe’s woebegone face; his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” 

Biting his lower lip, Felipe began a series of rapid gestures. Don Alejandro raised his hand to stop the boy. “I can’t follow what you’re saying, Felipe. Slow down.” 

Taking a deep breath, Felipe nodded. Slowly, with hand gestures, he described Pablo’s predicament to the aged _don_. A look of anger etched Don Alejandro’s face as Felipe finished the account. 

“A boy’s father needs help, and I’m laid up in bed,” he muttered. “I can’t even ride in a carriage, Felipe; I’m under doctor’s orders to stay off my feet for now.” 

Felipe’s shoulders sagged as his _patrón’s_ words sank in. He sighed. Don Alejandro patted his arm. 

“As soon as I am up and around, _amigo,_ I’ll see what I can do to help Señor Santiago. I promise.” 

Nodding, Felipe rose to his feet. If Don Alejandro couldn’t help Pablo, his friend would never get to return to school. 

_I can’t let that happen,_ he thought, as he trudged into the hall. _Don Alejandro can’t help him if he’s hurt._ A sudden thought made him stop in his tracks. _Maybe Padre Bernardo can. I’ll talk to him, when he comes!_

He rushed back into the bedroom and shared his idea with Don Alejandro, who nodded approval. “Padre Bernardo is a truly good man, a true man of God,” the elderly _caballero_ said. “You share this with him, and he’ll do everything he can to help Pablo.” He grimaced as he waved toward the thick white bandage encircling his ankle. “I only wish I could!” 

Felipe nodded. He knew that. Rubbing his neck, he left the room again and returned to the kitchen. Maria gave him an apple to munch on; as he enjoyed its crunchy sweetness, he thought about Pablo and prayed silently for help. 

The next day, Felipe could hardly keep still throughout his lessons in the barn; he was too busy watching for his opportunity to speak with the _padre_. When the teacher and Padre Bernardo dismissed school for the day, Felipe rushed up to them. As the young boy began to gesture wildly, Padre Bernardo held up his hand. 

“I know, Felipe; I know.” The priest raised his hand, then touched Felipe’s arm. “I know all about Pablo’s predicament. I've been trying to think of a way to help him since yesterday. You want to help him, too, don’t you?” Felipe nodded. 

“Well, so do I, _amigo_. Pablo has a good mind and the deepest love of learning I’ve seen in any of my students--except for you, of course.” Felipe grinned, and the _padre_ chuckled. Patting the boy’s shoulder, he added, “If he can return to the mission school, I know he will be a good student. He always has been.” 

Felipe nodded agreement. Pablo just had to return! Holding his arm with his right hand, he gazed up at the _padre_ hopefully. 

The priest glanced down at the rosary dangling down his chest. Fingering the smooth wooden beads, he looked thoughtful. “What we need is a way to help the Santiagos financially, so that Pablo’s mother will be able to spare him.” Felipe shook his head up and down in agreement. The _padre’s_ eyes twinkled. “You know, my son, you and the other children have learned quite a few crafts since you first enrolled in school. Weaving, pottery, woodwork, making dyes out of plants and rocks.” 

He smiled. “Why don’t you _muchachos_ make and sell some things? You can donate the money to the Santiagos; then maybe his mother will be able to spare him to come back to school. How’s that?” 

A broad smile spread across Felipe’s face. That just might work! _If the others will do it,_ he thought. _I’ve got to talk them into it!_ He grimaced. _Trouble is, they don’t really like it that he loves to learn so. They might not agree to help him._

He glanced toward the other children, heading out of the barn toward their tethered _burros_ and ponies. _I’ll talk to them now!_

He approached them, waving his arms as he drew near. The other children stopped in their tracks and turned towards him. “Felipe wants to tell us somethin’,” Tomaso said. 

Nodding agreement, Felipe began to share his idea, through signs, for helping Pablo. He gestured wildly as he tried to share the _padre’s_ idea with his schoolmates. Watching him closely, Tomaso interpreted for him. When Felipe dropped his hands to his sides, he looked from one boy or girl to another, wiping his forehead as he did so. 

To his dismay, only a few even appeared concerned. Most of the children shrugged or made faces. “Who cares?” one of them said. “Pablo likes that stuff too much anyway! Let him stay home and work.” 

“Yeah! It’s not important.” Another boy tossed a pebble at the ground; it landed in an explosion of dust. “School’s not even fun--I wouldn’t be here if my parents would let me stay home!” He flipped his wide-brimmed straw _sombrero_ off his head and pushed his homespun cotton sleeves up past his elbows. 

The other children’s disinterest upset Felipe. The only way his plan could be made to work was if they all worked together to carry it out. How could he persuade them to feel differently so that they would want to help Pablo? He dug the toe of his sandal into the dirt at his feet, until dust particles covered his big toe. Beads of sweat rolled down his nose; he wiped them off with his palm. 

_Please, God,_ Felipe prayed silently, _make them help!_

Tomaso approached Felipe and scowled at the others. “This isn’t right!” He pursed his lower lip. “Pablo really wants to come back and learn--let’s not make fun of him for that! Let’s help him. Isn’t that what Jesus would want?” He looked from one child to another. Rubbing his neck, Felipe nodded agreement. 

Putting his hands on his hips, Tomaso looked right at the boy who had first spoken against the idea. “If you wanted to become a _vaquero_ and somethin’ happened so you couldn’t, wouldn’t you someone to help you?” The boy fidgeted, but did not say anything. “Well, Pablo wants to go back to school when he gets confirmed. Come on, let’s help him so he can!” Tomaso wiped his sweaty face with the back of his hand. 

Felipe held his breath. For a long moment, no one spoke. No one moved. Finally, a girl wearing a pale-pink silk dress and bonnet stepped forward; she cradled a china doll in the crook of her right arm. “Let’s help him.” She glared at the boys, then turned to Felipe. “My parents say an education is important, and everyone should have a chance to learn.” 

“Well, my parents don’t!” A boy wearing a dark-green velvet suit and silver-buckled black leather shoes made a face, then scowled. “My papá says it’s not fitting for peasants to learn to read anyway! If they’re still going to do that, let them learn what’s suited to their station, no more.” 

He glared at Felipe as he spoke. Felipe knew what he was thinking. The boy had made it plain, more than once, that Felipe had been taught far more than was suitable for a houseboy like him. Felipe clenched his fists and pressed his lips into a tight line, as he glared at the boy. 

_I’m glad Don Alejandro’s not like that. He’s the kindest man in the world,_ the young servant boy thought. _He wants people to have a chance to learn! I’m so glad he gave it to me. He’d give it to Pablo, too, if the Santiagos were his tenants and not that stingy Don Enrique’s. He’s done it for others._

Julio de la Reales shook his head. “My papá disagrees, Pedro. He says everyone ought to have an education.” He waved a velvet-clad arm toward Felipe. “I say, let’s help Pablo!” 

To Felipe’s relief, the other children nodded assent. “It’ll be fun!” One of the peasant girls wearing a dark-blue woolen skirt and a white unbleached cotton blouse skipped forward, carrying a jump rope. “We can make baskets and plates and all kinds of stuff! I’ll bet lots of people’ll buy them!” 

Tomaso grinned broadly. “ _Si._ They will!” 

As the children mounted their _burros_ and ponies and rode away, Felipe scampered toward the whitewashed back of the _hacienda_ , looming ahead. _Thank You, God!_ he silently prayed. Now, the real job lay ahead--they had to make the wares they intended to sell! 

**ZZZZZZ**

The next several days were busy ones for Felipe and his schoolmates. Don Alejandro ordered a large storage room in the back of the _hacienda_ to be set aside for the job; in that room, Padre Bernardo set up the mission school’s potter’s wheel. He also brought large amounts of straw, clay, and wood for the job. It would be the students’ job to find the plants and rocks needed to make the dyes. 

The _padre_ and the teacher deleted the hour usually set aside for the craft lesson; in its stead, the children stayed for three hours following their arithmetic and catechism lessons. During that period, they wove baskets and toys, shaped cups, plates, and bowls, and carved figurines out of wood. The girls made dyes out of rocks and plants to color the baskets with; all the children dyed red, blue, green, and purple dots, lines, and circles on the various items. When Felipe had free time, he continued to make more such objects, to hasten the process. 

All the while, Felipe continued his own lessons with Don Alejandro and his science lessons with Señor Spencer. Even though Don Alejandro was confined to bed, he insisted on giving Felipe his lessons in his own bedroom. Felipe would bring his textbooks, copybook, slate, and other materials to Don Alejandro's bedside, and the aged _don_ would instruct him. Don Alejandro had started teaching the boy algebra a few months before. He had recently started to teach Felipe Greek and Italian. And he had been teaching the young houseboy Latin, French, and English for quite some time, so now Felipe could read books written in those languages, write letters and essays in those languages, and lip-read his _patrón’s_ speech with no real difficulty when Don Alejandro spoke in those languages. Since finishing his studies in the 6th Reader, Felipe had studied ancient history and the Middle Ages. Recently, he had started studying the Renaissance. 

“You’re doing a fine job, Felipe.” Shifting position against his plump, silk-covered pillows, Don Alejandro smiled. “My son is going to be quite proud of you, when he comes home.” 

Felipe smiled his thanks. Rubbing his neck, he picked up his history book and proceeded to silently read the next lesson in it. Don Alejandro would ask him questions at the end of the silent reading session. 

Reluctantly, Felipe relinquished riding and training Parche, his pinto; he had to leave that to Miguel and Tomaso. Helping the other children make the sales items took so much of his spare time that there was none left to spend on horses. He could only ride his Shetland pony, Ocho, to neighboring farms and _haciendas_ when Don Alejandro sent a _vaquero_ to ride with him; he was currently forbidden to ride on his own, and could spend no other time with Ocho at the moment. Ever since Don Luis Ramon had become _alcalde_ , Don Alejandro had forbidden Felipe to go to town. Felipe missed those trips to town terribly. 

_At least I get to go on learning, though,_ Felipe told himself. _Not like poor Pablo! He has to stay home now. He won’t get to graduate. He won’t get to come back as a boarder, if we can’t raise the money._ Silently, as he reached into his woolen sash and fingered the smooth rosary beads resting against his waist within the sash, he prayed that God would grant them success. He made the sign of the cross at the end of his prayer. 

At the same time that Felipe’s lessons continued, so did the plans for his approaching confirmation and that of his classmates. This was their last term in the mission school; at the end, they would graduate, and his graduating class’s confirmation would follow shortly afterward. The whole graduating class would be confirmed together, when the bishop came to Los Angeles. On the day of their confirmation, there would be a _fiesta_ , and the whole de la Vega household would attend. The other candidates for confirmation and their families would come, too. 

_I can’t wait!_ Felipe smiled broadly as he thought about the approaching festivities. _I’ll be a real member of the church, and there’ll be a party--oh, it’s going to be such fun!_

A picture of Pablo rose in his mind--a sad Pablo, doing chores for his mother. The excitement in Felipe’s heart turned into pain. _If only he could graduate, too!_ He shook his head. _Why did the_ alcalde _have to do this to him?_ He set his jaw. _We will help him come back! We will sell all the things we make, and give the money to his mother. Then she’ll_ have _to let him come back to school!_

One day, as Felipe finished weaving a braid to be used in making a straw mat, he paused to look at the stacks of objects that lay scattered on the table. A candle set in a sconce by the wall set out a flickering light that softly lit the corner of the table where he stood; a lamp at the other end shed soft beams of light throughout the room. Felipe’s shadow loomed larger than him on the nearest wall. 

From the beginning of the project, the priest and the teacher had insisted on the children doing their best work, and they had all risen to the occasion. It pleased the young boy to see that not one object had a single flaw. Padre Bernardo and their teacher had taught them well! 

Felipe felt good about the work being done. The baskets, toys, cups, plates, and figurines looked so nice--surely people would buy them all! Then the _padre_ could give the money to Pablo’s mother, and Pablo could come back to school. 

_I’ll bet Señorita Escalante will buy some--maybe a lot!_ Felipe smiled. _I just know she will. She’ll surely buy some plates and cups, I know--the tavern can always use some! Sometimes her plates get broken, and then she has to get more. She’s kindhearted--she’ll do it to help Pablo._ Victoria Escalante owned the village tavern. She was a good friend of the de la Vegas and of Felipe. A girl, 17 years old, when Don Diego had brought Felipe to Los Angeles, she had since become a woman--she was 23 now. The boy rubbed his neck, then picked up a small pile of straw and, with deft fingers, wove it into another braid. 

Suddenly, a shadow crossed the table; dropping the finished braid, Felipe whirled around to see who had entered the storeroom. Padre Bernardo’s large body framed the entrance, a package cradled against his side. Chuckling, he approached Felipe and ruffled his hair. 

“You’re doing a fine job, my boy.” He patted Felipe’s shoulder. “Is that a mat you’re weaving?” Felipe nodded. “You’re doing a good job with the braiding, _amigo_.” Felipe smiled his thanks. Padre Bernardo picked up a wooden _balero_ , consisting of a wooden cup and a wooden ball attached to the cup by a string. “And a fine job with the carving! Some child will enjoy playing with this.” Felipe grinned. He hoped so! 

The _padre’s_ expression turned serious. “My son, would you do me a favor?” He held up the package he’d been carrying--it consisted of some school materials, Felipe saw. “Would you ride to the Santiago farm and give these to Pablo?” 

He glanced down at them, then at Felipe. “He’s been out for days now. He’s coming to catechism class on Saturdays, but in the other subjects we’re teaching at school, he’s getting too far behind. If he’s to have any hope of getting back his dream of furthering his education, he needs a way to stay caught up while he’s waiting. That way, if our plan works, he’ll be able to graduate with the rest of you, or shortly afterward.” He smiled. “I’ve already talked with Don Alejandro, and he’s given his permission. Miguel will ride with you, since Don Alejandro’s afraid to let you ride by yourself at this time.” 

Felipe nodded. He would be glad to--it had been too long since he’d last seen Pablo! 

_I miss Pablo!_ Felipe sighed. _It’s no fun without him._

Felipe signed a question. The priest nodded. “ _Si,_ Felipe. Pablo will be confirmed, regardless of how our project turns out. Unfortunately, his mother has already told me that he can’t be spared to go to the _fiesta_ afterward.” Felipe winced--that was not fair! 

Minutes later, as he rode alongside the gruff head _vaquero_ toward the Santiago tenant farm, Felipe reminisced, sitting straight and tall in the saddle as he’d been taught. Ocho, as always, trotted proudly and gracefully. Overhead, the sun beat down on their wide-brimmed straw _sombreros_. Beads of sweat formed on Felipe’s cheeks; he reached up to wipe them away. Miguel, unsmiling, did the same. 

The servant boy thought about the way Pablo would sit up straight in the chair next to him in class, his hands grasping his slate and slate pencil, drinking in the teacher’s words as she taught the children their letters, their words, their numbers, how to add and subtract, multiply and divide...how he would sometimes sit in the hot sun during recess, practicing his sums on his slate or reading his reader, while the other children played...and how an expression of deep longing would well up in the boy’s eyes when he talked about his dream to someday become a boarder at the school so he could learn all the _padre_ could teach him. The school taught the boarders--and the orphans who lived there--more advanced reading and arithmetic, such as Felipe had already learned--as well as Spanish grammar, spelling, and Spanish and colonial history and geography. It gave them a chance to hone their handwriting skills. It also taught a trade to its boarders. 

Those who eventually graduated in their mid-teens could read the Bible in Spanish, write essays and letters, and perform such arithmetic skills as fractions, decimals, and percentages. They were familiar with Spanish and colonial history and geography. All had skills that would permit them to support themselves and their families. None of them, though, would be allowed to enter a university or a profession--the mission school was not a stepping stone to advanced _caballero_ -style education. It was only, as the churlish young _caballero_ had put it, a place to give young peasants an education “suited to their station.” 

At that moment, all Felipe could think about was how lucky he was to have a well-educated _patrón_ who not only could afford to give his houseboy an education, but cared so much about him that he had gone out of his way to teach Felipe to read, to write, and to love learning. To actually give the boy the education normally given to the son of a _caballero_. Pablo’s parents could only send him to the mission school, because they were illiterate and too poor to afford books. 

_I’m so glad Pablo’s father’s willing to let him learn,_ Felipe thought. _A lot of farmers won’t let their children go to school; they think there’s no use in it. Pablo’s father’s different, and I’m glad!_ He smiled. _Pablo’s mother sure is nice, too!_ He reached upward to wipe his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. _I wish a breeze would blow!_

When Felipe and Miguel arrived at the farm, they found Pablo chopping wood next to the woodpile. He smiled and waved, then wiped his own sweaty forehead. Miguel waved at the young boy. Felipe smiled his own greeting, waving as he did so. 

_“Hola!”_ Pablo laid his ax on the woodblock. “Mamá’s inside, weavin’. _Hola,_ Miguel!” The _vaquero_ nodded. 

Señora Santiago stepped outside, followed by her younger children; they crowded around her woolen skirts. “Hello, Felipe. Miguel.” Felipe grinned at her, then dismounted; Miguel took the reins. Felipe trotted toward her and handed her the school materials Padre Bernardo had given him. With signs, he explained that the priest had asked him to bring them to Pablo. 

Pablo slowly approached him, shoulders slumped, as Felipe finished his explanation. He smiled his thanks, but no smile appeared in his eyes. “ _Gracias,_ Felipe. It was nice of you and the _padre_ to do this, but I’m not gonna get to go back to school. Don Enrique’s not goin’ to help us.” He took a deep breath, as he fought back tears. “My mamá talked to him already, and that was his answer. That means Papá’s goin’ to stay in jail till next fall, at least. Maybe longer.” 

He held out his hands; Felipe handed him the school materials. “I’m never gonna get to go back.” Cradling the materials against his chest, he bit his lower lip, then shrugged. “Oh, well. Mamá says what can’t be cured must be endured. At least I still get to be confirmed. I wish I could go to the _fiesta_ , too!” With a sigh, he looked at his mother, then gazed down at the arithmetic book and the reader. “At least I’ve got these. _Gracias,_ Felipe. I’ll be sure to study them.” 

Nodding agreement, Señora Santiago smiled at Felipe. “Tell the _padre gracias_ for me.” She turned to her son. “You can visit with Felipe, but when he leaves, you must get back to work. I will need that wood to cook supper soon.” 

Pablo nodded acquiescence. “ _Si,_ Mamá.” 

“I’ll be back in an hour to take you home, Felipe.” Miguel rode off, Ocho in tow. 

Felipe and Pablo sat on rickety pine chairs. A cool breeze arose, caressing Felipe’s cheeks and ruffling his brown hair. It felt good on his sweaty skin. For the next half-hour, the boys talked about their chores and their friends at school. All the while, Felipe watched as Pablo, slouching, made an obvious effort to keep a smile on his face. 

_He’s given up,_ Felipe thought. _He really doesn’t think he’ll ever get to go back to school. It’s hard for him--I can tell!_

Silence fell on the two boys. As Felipe sat silently, watching Pablo, deep sadness lay as a heavy stone in his heart. His friend’s obvious attempt to bear the loss of his dream bravely was such a contrast with the hope and eagerness that had etched his face whenever he had talked of his plans in the past. Felipe looked down at his sandal-clad feet, and his shadow that stretched out from them. 

Felipe remembered the first time Pablo had shared his dreams with him, two years before... 

_“I love it here.” Pablo’s eyes shone as he gazed up at the_ adobe _church. It was recess, and the children were outside playing. “I wish my mamá and papá could afford books. I could read them, if I had them.”_

 _“Felipe nodded agreement. He certainly empathized with that! He was so lucky to live with a_ patrón _who loved and collected books, and who had given Felipe his own books to read. The overhead sun beat down on their heads as they stood in the mission church’s side garden. The other children played with one another and with various toys. Felipe wiped his sweaty cheeks and pushed his_ sombrero _off his head; it dangled down his back._

_“Pablo paused. “Felipe, if I tell you somethin’, will you laugh at me?”_

_“Frowning, Felipe shook his head. He certainly would not!_

_“Pablo glanced nervously at the other boys, playing with toy swords, toy guns, and wooden hoops. “When I get confirmed--” Pablo paused again, and swallowed. “--I’m goin’ to come back to the school and live here. So I can learn some more. Padre Bernardo’s told me that some get to do that, and learn all kinds of stuff. More than they’re goin’ to teach us here.”_

What? _Felipe signed._

_“Pablo shrugged. “How to write letters to other people. How to read the Bible--in Spanish, not Latin. How to do more math than the teacher teaches us. Our history. They get to learn a trade, too.” A broad smile spread across the boy’s face. “I want to learn all that!” His eyes shone._

_“Felipe smiled. Don Alejandro had already taught him all that, and more. As he signed another question, Pablo watched him closely. He nodded._

_“"Si, my parents are goin’ to let me. They said they would. Padre Bernardo said he’d give me the books, so they wouldn’t have to buy them. Just like he loans me the stuff I use now. I couldn’t come, you know, if Mamá and papá had to buy my books for me. Our patrón’s not generous, Papá says.” He grimaced._

_Felipe smiled wryly. Pablo was right about Don Enrique, and as for the Santiagos, well, they sure couldn’t!..._

Biting his lower lip, Felipe shook his head to drive away the memory. At the moment, it hurt too much to remember, and he was sure it did for Pablo, too. Somehow, he just had to help Pablo regain his dream. He just had to! He touched Pablo’s arm, then squeezed his shoulder. With signs, he suggested that they pray to God for help. Pablo nodded. 

The two boys sat up straight; Felipe bowed his head and closed his eyes. Being deaf, he couldn’t hear Pablo praying, so he prayed silently to God. _Please, God,_ he implored, _help us help Pablo. Please help him go back to school. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, amen._

A deep sense of peace flooded his heart at the close of those words. _It’s going to be all right,_ Felipe thought. _God’s going to help us!_ Making the sign of the cross, he opened his eyes. Pablo’s eyes were open, and the troubled look in them had disappeared. 

Suddenly, straightening his back, Pablo looked behind Felipe. Swiveling his head, Felipe saw Miguel returning with both horses. The servant boy scrambled to his feet, followed by Pablo. 

“ _Gracias,_ Felipe.” Pablo smiled. “And tell Padre Bernardo thank you for me.” Felipe smiled and nodded. Scurrying toward Miguel, he mounted Ocho and returned to the _hacienda_. In the distance, a patrol of soldiers followed Sergeant Mendoza to the left. Felipe frowned. 

_I hope the_ alcalde _didn’t send them to arrest somebody!_ the boy thought. Sergeant Mendoza waved at Felipe, who smiled and waved back. 

“I hear you’re getting ready to graduate!” the sergeant shouted; Felipe just barely managed to read his lips. With a broad smile, he nodded. Sergeant Mendoza waved again. “Tell Don Alejandro I’ll be there to see you get confirmed!” 

Smiling his thanks, Felipe nodded a second time. He certainly would! He hoped the _alcalde_ would let Mendoza come to his confirmation. The soldiers disappeared over a hill. 

The next day was the final day of school. As he’d been doing for the last few days, the priest taught the children about the confirmation ceremony and what they would need to do, in preparation. The graduation ceremony was held two days later. The children’s parents and guardians all attended the event. 

_It’s over,_ Felipe thought, after the ceremony. _I’ve graduated! And next comes our confirmation. The bishop will confirm us when he gets here._ He smiled at the cloudless sky overhead. The bishop lived in Monterey, Felipe knew; he traveled throughout the territory periodically, confirming all candidates en route. Padre Bernardo had told the students, on the last day of school, that the bishop was on such a tour now and that he had recently arrived in Santa Paula. A special Mass would be held just for their confirmation, when the bishop came to Los Angeles. 

Felipe knew that his education was far from over--his lessons at home would continue until he was a man. But his schooling at the mission had officially come to an end. Leaning against the de la Vega chapel wall’s smooth, whitewashed _adobe_ bricks, watching the other children milling around with their families, he frowned. _We’ve still got to get ready for the sale, so we can help Pablo finish his schooling, too._

A horrible thought suddenly entered his mind. What if Don Alejandro refused to let him take part in the sale? It would be held in town, he knew, and the _patrón_ had not allowed him to go there for some time! Felipe stood stock-still as the horrible possibility flashed into his mind. 

_He’s got to let me,_ Felipe thought. _He must! Surely, for a good cause like this, he’ll make an exception._ Pulling his rosary out of his sash, he began to pray with it. In the process, he prayed for a way out of this dilemma. 

The next day, Padre Bernardo visited the de la Vega _hacienda_. By then, Don Alejandro was allowed to walk on crutches, so he accompanied Felipe and the priest to the storeroom, where, leaning on his wooden crutches, the aged _don_ gazed for a long moment at the piles of clay objects, woven objects, and carved objects. He had tied the sash of a silk bathrobe around his waist and had donned a pair of slippers. Meanwhile, the _padre_ examined them all, picking up one and then another and examining it closely. Felipe and Don Alejandro stood behind the lamp so they wouldn’t block its light. At last, rubbing his gray hair, Padre Bernardo turned to Felipe and smiled. 

“You and the other students have done an excellent job.” He patted the boy’s shoulder. “There’s not a flaw in any of them. I’m quite sure they will sell well.” Felipe beamed his appreciation of the priest’s praise, then rubbed his dirty hands. That morning, at Don Alejandro’s insistence, he had worked alongside one of the gardeners for two hours, helping him to weed and water the rows of vegetables. He would still have to wash his hands before lunch. 

Giving the boy a proud smile, Don Alejandro nodded agreement. “You’ve put much work into this, Felipe, and you’ve done a good job. All of you have. I’m proud of you children.” He turned to Padre Bernardo, fingers gripping the crutches’ smooth wooden handles. “Where will you hold the sale? Have you decided on a date?” 

Padre Bernardo nodded. “ _Si._ Day after tomorrow. In the village _plaza_.” Furrowing his eyebrows, he glanced at Felipe. “Uh, tell me. Will Felipe be allowed to help out?” 

Felipe held his breath as Don Alejandro pursed his lips. Gazing up at the elderly _caballero_ , Felipe silently pled with God to intervene. He could only hope that Don Alejandro would allow him to go to town to help with the sale. Surely, for a matter as serious as helping Pablo, the _patrón_ would let him do so! The boy clenched his fists and pressed them against his sides. 

At last, Don Alejandro sighed and shook his head. “I dare not, _Padre_. Not even for this.” He looked at Felipe, sadness in his kind eyes. 

Bitter disappointment lay like a heavy stone in Felipe’s heart. Gazing down at the whitish _adobe_ tiles covering the storeroom floor, he thrust out his lower lip. 

_It’s not fair!_ he thought. _I’ve just got to be there to help with the sale! Why won’t Don Alejandro let me go? Would the_ alcalde _really hurt me if I went?_ The smooth _adobe_ bricks comprising the wall pressed his shirt against his backside as he leaned against them, shoulders slumped. 

The priest laid a hand on Felipe’s shoulder. The boy raised his head. “I know of a way to manage this.” Padre Bernardo smiled at the boy comfortingly. “Alejandro, may I use your _hacienda_ to hold the sale? That way, Felipe will be able to participate.” Felipe straightened his back, smiling broadly, as the priest’s words sank into his heart. 

Don Alejandro glanced at Felipe’s face again, then smiled. “I have no objection, _Padre_. I’m sure if people know about the sale, they will come.” 

Padre Bernardo nodded agreement. “They will know. I’ll see to it. I’ll have flyers posted around the _plaza_ , and make an announcement in church tomorrow.” 

Don Alejandro nodded agreement. “Excellent idea. And I’ll inform my servants and ranchhands.” 

Joy flooded Felipe’s heart. Beaming, he gave the aged _don_ a look that thanked him. 

Don Alejandro chuckled, then smiled at Felipe. “He has always had a kind heart, and he has acquired a deep love of learning.” He turned back to Padre Bernardo. “When I first started teaching Felipe, five years ago, he couldn’t see any value in getting an education. I saw it on his face when I first told him that he was going to learn to read. Since then, he has become well-educated, and he has learned to love books and to value learning. He not only wants to learn all he can, he wants to help his friends do the same. It pleases me that he has gone to such lengths to help Pablo.” 

Fingering his beads, the priest nodded. “ _Si._ It pleases me, too. I believe the Lord will reward our efforts, Felipe, and that Pablo will be able to come back. Have you been praying for that to happen?” Felipe nodded. “Good boy. Keep doing so, and I’ll do the same.” 

“And so will I.” Don Alejandro nodded. 

Padre Bernardo smiled. “I’ll be back later, to hold confession for you and your household.” He blessed them and lumbered out of the storeroom. 

The elderly _caballero_ turned to Felipe. “Time to get ready for lunch, _amigo_.” Nodding acquiescence, Felipe scampered toward the kitchen, where he washed his hands in the china bowl kept for that purpose. 

The next day, when the priest came out to the _hacienda_ to hold Mass, he told Don Alejandro and Felipe that he’d made the announcement in church at the end of the village Mass. He then held a separate Mass for the de la Vega household, as he had been doing for months. 

“The Santiagos didn’t come to church this morning,” he told them, when Mass was over. “I went by there after church, and I found that Miguel’s mother was down with a cold. They don’t know about the sale yet--I’ll tell them when it’s over.” Felipe nodded. 

That evening, Don Alejandro had the servants and ranchhands assemble in the kitchen, where he told them about the approaching sale. Under Don Alejandro’s direction, Felipe and three of the other servants set up long pine tables in the enclosed _patio_ and arranged the items on them. 

When Felipe woke up the following morning, a gray haze appeared through the open doorway; Juana Gomez, the laundress, had swung the wooden door open before Felipe woke up. Throwing his brown woolen bathrobe around him, Felipe hurried toward the doorway. To his dismay, gray clouds covered the sky. Silently, he gulped. 

_It looks like it might rain,_ he thought. _It can’t! Rain will wipe the sale out._ He made the sign of the cross as he stared outside. 

Felipe could only hope that it would not start to rain. The way those clouds appeared, the weather did not look promising. Juana tapped his shoulder. “Get dressed! We don’t have all mornin'.” Irritation etched her face. 

Nodding acquiescence, Felipe trudged toward his box, where he kept his clothes and other possessions. Pablo Gomez, who worked as one of the de la Vegas’ gardeners, combed his hair and buttoned his homespun cotton shirt. Felipe picked up his rosary and knelt at his box to pray (he typically used it as an altar during prayer time). 

When he had finished “saying” his prayers, Felipe got dressed, inserted his rosary into his sash, and accompanied the Gomezes to the kitchen, where he would begin his daily tasks. After he took Don Alejandro’s shaving materials to the _patrón’s_ quarters, the young servant boy returned to the kitchen to eat breakfast. _Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord,_ he prayed silently, when the servants bowed their heads for the blessing. 

After he had eaten, he joined the elderly _caballero_ in the library. Shaking his head, Don Alejandro, leaning on his crutches, looked out the window. The wooden shutters rested against the yellowish-beige walls; they had been swung wide open. 

“I don’t know, Felipe,” he said. A worried frown creased his forehead. “Look at those clouds--they’re dark and gray. And there are numerous streaks coming toward the ground, in the distance. That means rain is falling.” He pointed toward the clouds across the horizon, then turned toward Felipe, a sad look etched on his face. “I’m afraid our sale’s going to be rained out, my boy.” 

Careful to keep the crutch under his armpit, he put his right arm around Felipe’s shoulder. Felipe shook his head, a desperate look creasing his own forehead. Don Alejandro hugged the boy against his side, a sympathetic look creasing his kind, lined face; the crutch dug into Felipe’s side, making him wince with pain. 

Slumping, as Don Alejandro relaxed the hug, Felipe leaned against the _caballero_. He pursed his lips as he glared out the window at the clouds. Silently, he reflected that it was just as well that he couldn’t speak. Even if he could, his disappointment was too deep and bitter for words. Turning around, Felipe gazed down at the whitish gleaming marble floor, and the Oriental rug that covered it. 

Sure enough, within the hour, a steady stream of rain pounded the ground. Forks of lightning zigzagged across the sky; more than once, Felipe felt the earth shake when a particularly close lightning bolt struck the earth. The servants moved the tables and objects back into the storeroom. “Nobody will come out here now,” Don Alejandro told the servant boy. “To leave the things out in the _patio_ now would ruin them.” 

Felipe nodded. Shoulders sagged, he trudged down the hall to the kitchen and sank onto one of the benches. Resting his head against the plank table’s rough surface, he sighed. 

_It’s over,_ he thought. _I failed him. Pablo will never get to come back to school now! Never!_ He shifted position on the bench’s unyielding wooden surface, then glared at the closed window shutters keeping out the rain. Deep rage and frustration surged in him. He wanted to stamp his foot, throw something--do anything to let out his frustration. 

_Why?_ he silently screamed. _Why did the rain have to come today?! Now Pablo’ll never get to come back!_

Rising to his feet, he trudged out of the kitchen. For once, he wished he had his own bedroom so he could stay in there and sulk--going back out to the Gomez hut did not appeal to him. Especially if they happened to be there as well--the Gomezes had always resented having to share their hut with him, and that made their company less than pleasant. Pausing in the back hallway, where the storerooms were, Felipe leaned against the wall and sighed. 

_What am I going to do? Please, God, help! Please help Pablo._ He made the sign of the cross and glanced toward the ceiling, a beseeching expression etched on his face. 

Lowering his head, he bit his lower lip. For a long moment, he gazed down at the rows of _adobe_ tiles lining the floor in the back hallway. Maybe Don Alejandro would let him go out to the barn, even though it was raining--surely he would be alone there. He found the aged _don_ in the dining room, keeping his accounts, and signed his request. Parchments lay strewn over the polished mahogany dining table; Don Alejandro’s gold inkwell, gleaming in the lamplight, lay near his right elbow. A quill pen rested in his fingers. 

Don Alejandro nodded. “Put on a _poncho_ and a hat before you go out,” he ordered. Nodding acquiescence, Felipe returned to the kitchen, where his _poncho_ , _serape,_ and wide-brimmed straw _sombrero_ hung on nails. The rain pounded on his hat and bounced off the sodden ground as he rushed through the downpour toward the huge rock barns. 

Minutes later, the servant boy entered the nearest barn, where, to his disappointment, he found Tomaso wandering restlessly. _I wish he wasn’t here,_ Felipe thought, thrusting out his lower lip. _I wanted to be alone! I don’t feel like talking with anybody._

Tomaso raised his hand, a morose expression on his face. “ _Hola,_ Felipe. You look like the way I feel.” Felipe grimaced. “I hate this rain! It’s ruined everything.” The stable boy scratched his neck as he spoke. Next to him, cows stood quietly in their stalls; two were chewing their cud. The _vaqueros_ must have brought them in out of the rain. 

_I hope Parche and Ocho are safe in the stable,_ Felipe thought. _I’d go check on them, if it wasn’t raining._ He bit his lower lip. 

Nodding agreement, he kicked a nearby pile of hay. Tomaso plopped on a nearby bench, and rested his sandal-clad feet on a low mound of hay. “I’m trying to think of something. We can’t let this rain stop us! We just can’t.” 

Sighing, Felipe shrugged. He couldn’t think of anything to do they hadn’t done already. He picked up a handful of hay and hurled it at the ground. He then slid down the rock wall and landed on a pile of hay; their ends jabbed his underside as he shifted position. Felipe picked up a piece of hay and snapped it in half. 

_This could have been a time of rejoicing if only we’d been able to help Pablo,_ he thought. 

Remaining in a standing position, hands folded across his chest, Tomaso leaned against the wall and looked down at Felipe. “We’ll be havin’ our confirmation in a few days,” he said. “As soon as the bishop gets ready.” 

Felipe nodded. The visiting bishop, who had arrived in Los Angeles the day before, was going to confirm the whole graduating class during his stay in Los Angeles. _And then we’re going to have our_ fiesta _,_ he thought. 

A broad smile spread across Tomaso’s face. Straightening his back, he grinned. “I got an idea!” Felipe stared at him. 

Scampering toward Felipe, Tomaso plopped in the hay next to him. “Listen, Felipe! There’s goin’ to be a lot of people at the _fiesta_ , right?” Felipe grinned himself. He thought he could guess what Tomaso’s idea was. 

“If Don Alejandro says yes, we’ll have the sale that day.” Tomaso pressed his palms down against the pile of hay underneath, and bounced on it. “If it doesn’t rain again, it’ll be perfect! People usually set up vendor stands at _fiestas_ anyway--we‘ll just be settin’ up ours at ours!” 

Nodding agreement, Felipe gestured toward the doorway. The two boys leaped to their feet and raced toward the _hacienda_ , where they found the aged _don_ in the kitchen giving instructions to the cook. A savory smell wafted from the fireplace, where a huge iron pot hung over the flames. Leaning on his crutches, Don Alejandro listened attentively as Tomaso shared their idea. 

Don Alejandro exchanged glances with Maria, then smiled. “I know how much you want to help Pablo.” Letting go of one of the crutches’ handles, he patted Tomaso’s shoulder, then touched Felipe’s arm. “If it doesn’t rain that day, we’ll do it. I should be off these crutches by then, so I’ll be able to help.” 

Felipe smiled his thanks, then raced outside with Tomaso. For the next several hours, until it was time for Tomaso’s own tasks, they played in the same barn where they had gone earlier. Silently, Felipe prayed for sunny weather on the day of their confirmation. As the sun disappeared below the horizon, the rain died down and the clouds cleared out. 

To his joy, the big day dawned sunny and cloudless. Padre Bernardo had approved the boys’ idea, so after breakfast, the servants would set up the tables in the _patio_ , piled with the objects made by the students. 

As Felipe and the Gomezes got dressed, a deep sense of inner peace welled up in the boy’s heart. Just days before, he had chosen his confirmation name. For the past few days, he had spent much time in prayer, as preparation for the approaching event. Not only had he prayed that God would prepare him personally, he had also prayed for Pablo. After donning his best clothes, he knelt at his box again, to say his daily morning prayers. His rosary dangled from his fingertips as he did so; he rubbed his fingers across the smooth wooden beads to help him keep track of the decades. His late mother had bequeathed him that rosary, with the charge to pray with it faithfully and to bequeath it to his oldest child when he died. 

_Please, God,_ he silently prayed, at the end of his prayer time, _help Pablo!_ He stuck his rosary into his sash and joined the other servants in the kitchen. _At least Don Alejandro can use a cane now! No more having to use those horrid crutches._ He followed the other servants out the kitchen door and to the de la Vega chapel, where the visiting bishop and Padre Bernardo had arrived earlier. 

In the chapel, Mass went smoothly. Fortunately, there was room for everybody who had arrived; the majority sat on the benches, and the rest stood against the back wall. To his joy, Felipe discovered that Sergeant Mendoza had been allowed to come; he had managed to find room on the bench behind Don Alejandro’s. As he typically did, Felipe sat with the other servants in the back of the nave, as he had done when he’d attended Mass at the village church; Don Alejandro sat on the front right bench with Victoria Escalante, his cane leaning against the edge of the hard-backed wooden bench. A pair of gold earrings dangled from Victoria’s earlobes, and she wore a red woolen skirt and a white embroidered blouse. Her dark-brown hair hung in luxuriant soft curls to her shoulders. 

People lined every bench, from end to end; a steady line of people jammed the back wall. On the opposite wall behind the bishop, a gold statue of Mary holding a baby in her arms rested on a stand; above her, a huge crucifix hung from the tapestry. A figurine of Jesus wearing a crown of thorns, nailed to the cross, had been attached to that crucifix. 

Sitting at the bench’s edge so he could more easily see the bishop’s face, Felipe watched the bishop’s lips closely as he read the Scripture passage and preached the sermon. Normally, Padre Bernardo would have done so. More than once, as the sermon continued, Felipe shifted position on the bench’s hard, unyielding seat. 

The confirmation took place in the middle of Mass, before the Eucharist. When the bishop nodded toward the young people, they rose to their feet, stepped carefully over other’s people feet in an attempt to reach the center aisle, then filed forward and stood in a row. Even Pablo had gotten to come, much to Felipe’s relief. His mother and siblings sat near the back, with the other peasant families. Señora Santiago smiled proudly as her son filed toward the front with the others. 

The confirmands’ sponsors followed the children out into the aisle; as Felipe passed the front row of benches, Don Alejandro rose to his feet, grasped his cane, and followed the boy. The bishop extended his hands over the whole group, and prayed that each one would receive the Holy Ghost. 

“All-powerful God,” the bishop prayed, “Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, by water and the Holy Spirit, You freed Your sons and daughters from sin and gave them new life. Send Your Holy Spirit upon them to be their Helper and Guide. Give them the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of right judgment and courage, the spirit of knowledge and reverence. Fill them with the spirit of wonder and awe in Your presence. We ask this through Christ Jesus our Lord. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, amen.” 

When the bishop had finished his prayer, each confirmand stepped forward, one by one, accompanied by his sponsor or sponsors. At that point, the bishop had each confirmand and that child’s godparents renew and confirm that child’s baptismal promises. Since Felipe was without a godparent in Los Angeles, Don Alejandro stood in as such. 

“Felipe is a ward of the church, but he has lived with us since he was seven years old,” the elderly _caballero_ told the bishop. Next to him, Padre Bernardo nodded agreement. Don Alejandro glanced at the boy, then back at the bishop. “He has chosen me to be his confirmation sponsor. We have no idea who his original godparents were.” 

The bishop nodded. “And what is the confirmation name you have chosen?” he asked Felipe. He handed the boy a square of parchment and a pencil. 

Felipe scribbled the name on the parchment and handed it to the bishop. “You’ve chosen the name of Don Alejandro’s son. ‘Diego,’” the bishop said. Felipe nodded. Not only did he love and admire Don Diego, he respected the original Diego (who, in English, would be called “James”) who, as the brother of Juan, had been one of Jesus’ 12 apostles. He had read all he could about the life of San Diego. 

The bishop smiled. “You have chosen well, my son. The original Diego was indeed a man worthy of emulation, as were all the Lord’s apostles.” 

When the confirmands had all renewed their baptismal promises, the altar boy, dressed in his glistening white vestments, handed the bishop the bowl containing the special oil used in confirmations. One by one, he laid his hand on each confirmand’s head, then anointed each confirmand with chrism, a mixture of olive oil and balm. Dabbing the oil on each young person, he rubbed it on that confirmand’s forehead in the shape of a cross. 

_“Accipe signaculum doni Spiritus Sancti,”_ the bishop recited. Felipe knew that he was saying, “Be sealed with the Gift of the Holy Spirit.” The bishop continued, “I sign thee with the sign of the cross, and I confirm thee with the chrism of salvation, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.” 

He then gave the child he had just confirmed a slight blow on the cheek. Fortunately, the light slap didn’t hurt, but the young confirmands got the message. They had to be ready to suffer everything--even death--for Jesus, they knew. 

When it was Felipe’s turn, he stood stock-still, hands held rigidly at his sides, his rosary dangling down his chest, as the bishop anointed him. The oil dribbled down his forehead as the bishop rubbed it on his face. A drop of it landed on the upper bridge of his nose. Don Alejandro stood behind him, to his right. The bishop recited the filling of the Holy Spirit prayer again, then tapped Felipe’s cheek. Grinning, Felipe raised his hand to softly rub it, then glanced down at the smooth _adobe_ tiles that comprised the chapel floor. 

The bishop went on to anoint Tomaso, who‘d been fidgeting nonstop since the bishop had called the children and their sponsors forward. Felipe raised his head to watch. “Hold still,“ the bishop told Tomaso in an undertone; in that instant, Tomaso held his arms and legs rigidly still, holding his breath. The bishop rubbed the oil on his forehead, as he had the others. 

Wiping the chrism off his nose, Felipe turned toward Don Alejandro and grinned; Don Alejandro beamed back. On the bench behind them, next to the place where Don Alejandro had been sitting, Victoria Escalante gave the boy a proud smile. Sergeant Mendoza sat on the bench behind Victoria, grinning at Felipe. After the bishop had anointed Tomaso, he proceeded to anoint Pablo. 

When the ceremony finally came to an end, the confirmands and their sponsors returned to their seats. As Felipe sat in the back row with the other servants, the bishop led the congregation in the Eucharist. When the last member had taken the wine--served in a silver goblet--and the Host, everyone left the de la Vega chapel. Outside, Felipe joined his _patrón_ and the lovely innkeeper. A cool breeze caressed the boy’s cheeks and ruffled his brown hair. Overhead, small wisps of clouds, widely scattered, drifted here and there. To Felipe’s disappointment, the Santiagos were already leaving in their hay cart, to return home. 

_I didn’t even get to say good-bye!_ he thought. _I wish he could come to the_ fiesta _, too!_ With a sigh, he looked up at the aged _don_ , who beamed at him. 

“I’m so proud of you, my boy.” Don Alejandro hugged him with his right hand, grasping the white handle of his polished mahogany cane with his left. Victoria hugged him next, then kissed his cheek. Don Alejandro smiled at him. “As soon as we return to the house, we’ll get ready for your _fiesta_. The other confirmands have to return to their homes to get ready, but they and their families will start arriving at noon.” He smiled reassuringly. “And don’t worry. The vendor tables are set up and ready, even now. All we have to do now is set up the refreshments and your gifts.” 

Felipe smiled broadly. As he scampered toward the house, Don Alejandro followed him, hobbling on his cane. They had much to do. 

For the rest of the morning, the servants set up the tables under Don Alejandro’s supervision. The decorations had been hung all over the _patio_ the day before; a pile of presents for Felipe and the other confirmands was arranged on a table off to the side. Orange and green paper lanterns hung all around the _patio_. The servants would light them when darkness fell. 

Unable to be still, Felipe waited, fidgeting, by the gate for the guests to arrive. As one of the guests of honor, his only task during the party would be to open the carriage doors; after that, the other servants on duty would take over. Grinning, Felipe shifted his weight from one leg to another, as he waited for the first wagons, carts, and carriages to arrive. Several times, he picked a berry off the berry bush planted by the gate, and popped it into his mouth. 

Shortly before twelve, the first guests began to arrive, and the ranchhands arrived with their families. Since this was a de la Vega household celebration, the servants not directly involved in serving the guests would participate as well. A luxurious green carriage pulled up in front of the fence. 

“ _Hola,_ Felipe!” As soon as Felipe swung open the carriage door, Julio de la Reales beamed as he hopped out of the carriage. His parents stepped down sedately, his father helping his mother out. 

Felipe greeted his friend enthusiastically. Ever since Julio had first visited him while Felipe was training Parche, the two had become fast friends. Felipe had attended two _fiestas_ at the de la Reales _rancho_. For this particular occasion, Julio had donned a purple velvet outfit with a silk white Vandyke collar, white silk embroidery covering his sleeves, and a red satin sash encircling his waist. White stockings stretched up his velvet-breech-covered legs, and black leather shoes with silver buckles adorned his feet. 

Very soon, Felipe knew, Julio would start wearing the _charro_ jackets, frockcoats, tail coats, silk cravats, leather boots, and ruffled linen and silk shirts that grown-up _caballeros_ wore. A few days before, he had told Felipe that his father had made an appointment for Julio to see the family tailor, the next week. "My papá says I'm old enough now," the boy had told him. Felipe wondered what it would be like to see Julio dressed like a man. 

Victoria Escalante arrived next; she pulled the reins of her horses, to halt her wagon. Felipe helped her down as a ranchhand held her horses’ reins. She had on the same outfit she had worn to his confirmation. 

“It’s so good to see you again, Felipe! I was so proud of you this morning.” She hugged him, then followed him into the front garden. “You, too, Julio. I’m proud of you both.” Felipe smiled. “You don’t need to show me where to go, Felipe. I know where your _patio_ is.” Grinning, Felipe acknowledged her remark with a nod. She did, indeed; she’d certainly visited the _hacienda_ enough times. Julio smirked, looking away from her. 

Sadness crept into the houseboy’s heart as he watched the two of them leaving him to join the throng now assembling in the _patio_. If only Pablo could have been part of this celebration! 

_Maybe he can yet have one,_ he thought, rubbing his neck. _If the people will only buy our wares! We could have a party just for him!_

Returning to the gate to greet the rest of the arriving guests, he silently prayed that God would touch their hearts. A few minutes later, the musicians arrived with their instruments, and the bishop arrived with Padre Bernardo. All the while, a gentle breeze blew through the front garden. It felt good on Felipe’s face. 

When all the confirmands and their families had arrived, Padre Bernardo raised his hands; everyone grew silent. “I have an announcement for you all,” he said. Folding his hands across his chest, he continued. Behind him, a row of paper lanterns swung back and fork, dangling from the awning surrounding the _patio_. 

“The graduating students who got confirmed this morning have worked together to help a classmate of theirs, who was forced to drop out of the mission school due to unfortunate family circumstances. It has long been a dream of that boy’s, to come back to the school following his confirmation and get further schooling. Unfortunately, the arrest of his father has destroyed that dream.” Sadness welled up in the priest’s eyes, as he spoke. 

The people nodded, murmuring and shaking their heads. They knew what the priest was talking about. The _padre_ raised his hand again, for silence. Felipe thrust out his lower lip as the now-familiar resentment welled up in him. 

“God will deal with the _alcalde_ in His own time, but in the meantime, He’s calling us to act in compassion to meet a young boy’s need.” He paused, fingering his beads. “He has moved these young people--” He looked from one young confirmand to another before continuing. “--to do what they can to help their schoolmate. They have taken the various craft skills we have taught them, and used their skills to make the items you see on those tables over there. They will be available for sale this evening, when we come back to the _patio_ for the evening festivities.” He half-swiveled his body to nod toward the vendor tables. The people turned to look at them, then turned their attention back to Padre Bernardo. To the side, the bishop nodded. 

“The newest members of our church wish you to buy what you can, to help them raise money for the Santiago family.” The priest smiled. “If the _señora_ has sufficient funds, she will be able to spare her oldest son, and he will be able to come back to school. It’s too late for him, now, to graduate with his class, but he can still prepare to return to the school as a boarder, after the harvest. In recent days, he has been studying at home, in the evenings, which has permitted him to catch up on his lessons.” 

He paused. “The Lord will bless you, if you will do this for him, my children. Will you?” 

People nodded and smiled. “ _Si, Padre!_ We certainly will,” a man shouted. The children cheered and clapped their hands. 

Felipe beamed. _Thank You, God!_

The rest of the _fiesta_ went smoothly. During most of the daytime hours, it was held on the grounds of the _hacienda_ \--the guests enjoyed a barbecue and watched the _vaqueros_ race their horses, and the guests took part in a number of other outdoor activities. As evening approached, everyone returned to the _patio_ for the evening festivities. By then, the now-golden sun hung suspended over the horizon, preparing to dip below and let the stars come out. 

The servants on duty had arranged the refreshments, Felipe noticed. Buffet tables stood in rows across the _patio_ from the vendor and gift tables. A glistening white tablecloth covered each one. Apples, oranges, grapes, and pineapple slices formed a small mountain rising from a silver bowl. _Enchiladas, tamales,_ appetizers, _flan,_ olives, pastries, and slices of wheat bread were arranged on silver trays. Candies rose in mounds in several china bowls. 

A glass pitcher of lemonade stood on one buffet table, and a crystal decanter of champagne stood on the other. Roast chicken lay on another silver tray, next to yet another tray on which lay roast quail. One by the one, the servants lit the paper lanterns, and the candles and lamps placed here and there. The silver trays and _candelerias_ and the china bowls gleamed and glistened in the soft glow of the lanterns' flames. 

When everyone had arrived, a lovely _flamenco_ dancer entertained the guests, as one of the musicians accompanied her with a _flamenco_ guitar. All evening, the hired musicians played lively _fiesta_ music on their guitars, violins, and mandolins, and the older guests danced a number of waltzes and a variety of folk dances: the _contradanza_ , the _jarabe_ , and several others. The young people played a variety of games, chatted among themselves, roughhoused, and ate and ate and ate. 

All the while, starting with Felipe, the young confirmands took turns standing at the vendor tables to sell the wares on display. Each young person took his turn for a half hour, selling some of the wares, then another took his place. Meanwhile, at the guests’ urging, all the confirmands opened their confirmation presents. Among Felipe’s own gifts, he discovered that Don Alejandro had given him an ornate, gilt-edged crucifix. He gave his _patrón_ a look that thanked him. It would be pretty to look at when he was praying! 

All evening, people kept wandering over to the vendor tables, where they would pick out what they wanted to purchase and hand the money to the young people doing the selling. The boy or girl would place the money in a wooden box resting on the edge of one of the tables for that purpose, and then wrap the item and give it to the customer. At one point, Sergeant Mendoza, whom Felipe had noticed speaking privately with Don Alejandro, came over and bought a couple of plates and cups. Victoria bought 12 of each, as well as several baskets and mats, and two figurines. Several _caballeros_ and _doñas_ did the same thing, and purchased some toys as well. 

To Felipe’s joy, the number of objects remaining on the tables rapidly dwindled. Excitement welled up in his heart at the number of people buying the wares the children had made. By the time the _fiesta_ was over, there would surely be enough money to help Pablo! 

At last, the _fiesta_ ended. Saying good-bye to Don Alejandro and Felipe, the guests left, one by one, as the de la Vega servants loaded the confirmands’ presents in the wagons and carriages. Followed by Padre Bernardo and Felipe, Don Alejandro carried the wooden box into the house; resting his still-bandaged ankle on a cushioned stool, he leaned back in the satin-brocade couch in the library and counted the money. Meanwhile, some of the servants carried Felipe’s gifts inside and arranged them on the dining table. One of the maids would take them out to the Gomez hut. 

Felipe, standing near the fireplace, where he could see the dining room as well as watch Don Alejandro, continually shifted his glances from his gifts to the money being counted; unable to stand still, he kept shifting his weight. He felt heat from the fireplace warming his side; again and again, he exchanged glances with Padre Bernardo. 

_Please, God,_ Felipe silently prayed. _Please, God--!_

A beaming smile lit up his face as Don Alejandro laid aside the last _peso_. Felipe circled the _don’s_ chair so Don Alejandro would be able to see him without turning around. The priest stood nearby. 

“Well, Felipe, _Padre,_ altogether, we have raised 200 _pesos_.” He paused, a smile lighting his face. “Sergeant Mendoza told me, today, that Señor Santiago owed 50 _pesos_ in unpaid taxes, and for that, the _alcalde_ had him arrested. This will be enough not only to enable his wife to spare Pablo, but to free her husband as well!” 

Felipe erupted in a silent cheer. Tears welled up in Padre Bernardo’s eyes. _Thank You, Lord,_ the boy said, silently. _Gracias de Dios!_

“Praise the good Lord,” Padre Bernardo said, fingering his rosary. 

Don Alejandro placed the money back in the box and turned to the priest. “ _Padre,_ do you wish to take the money to the _alcalde_ , or shall I?” 

The priest looked at Felipe and smiled. “Let’s do it together. I want to be there when he releases the poor man, _and_ when we tell Pablo that he’s going to be further educated after all!” He turned to Felipe. “You’ll have to stay here when we go to the _alcalde’s_ office, but how would you like to go with us when we take Señor Santiago back to his farm? We’ll stop by the _hacienda_ to pick you up on the way back, when we return from town.” 

Felipe nodded, smiling broadly. _We did it!_ he thought. _We not only made enough money to help his family, we even made enough to pay his father’s taxes! Now he can come back to school!_

The butler led the smiling priest out the door; Don Alejandro turned to Felipe. “Come with me, _amigo_. We need to talk.” He turned to the maid. “Rosa, take his gifts out to the Gomez hut and put them in the box he keeps his things in.” Nodding, the maid directed the other servants to start carrying the presents out. 

The elderly _caballero_ invited Felipe to sit down on the couch with him. The soft cushion sagged underneath him as he perched on its edge. Don Alejandro set the wooden box on the table, then reclined at the other end, ankle still propped on the stool next to him. Felipe leaned sideways against the couch’s cushioned back. _This sounds serious,_ the boy thought, glancing down at the gleaming marble floor and the rug that covered it. 

“Well, my boy,” Don Alejandro said, “ever since I began instructing you, five years ago, you’ve learned quite a bit. You can read grown-up books now, write letters and essays, keep a diary, and perform beginning algebra problems. You know Latin, French, and English, and you’re learning Italian and Greek.” Felipe nodded, wondering what the _patrón_ was getting at. 

“You’ve come to know the Bible quite well--you can read it in Latin, French, English, and Spanish--and you’ve familiarized yourself with many other works of literature, too. And you’ve studied history intensively, all the way from ancient times. You’ve studied art and drama, as well.” Don Alejandro paused. Felipe nodded. 

“And all the while, _amigo,_ you’ve been learning to think. To reason. To use your good mind.” Felipe smiled. “And you’ve become quite an equestrian and horse trainer!” The aged _don’s_ eyes twinkled; Felipe grinned. He loved horses, and it would be a joy to return to training Parche. “When you’re old enough, Felipe, I will teach you to handle a gun. To hunt.” Felipe beamed at the prospect. 

Don Alejandro smiled. “What I’ve taught you--and what Diego will teach you when he returns--is what any _caballero_ learns when he’s young. In addition, you are learning something not even every _caballero_ gets to become acquainted with: science. I only learned a little bit about science over the decades, but thanks to Jonathan Spencer and the professors at Madrid University, my son has become well-versed in it.” Felipe nodded. 

The elderly _caballero_ glanced at his gold timepiece, then inserted it into his vest pocket. “Felipe, I want you to tell me, now, what you’ve learned at the mission school.” 

Felipe frowned. The mattress sagged underneath him as he shifted position. With signs, he pointed out that the academic curriculum at the mission school had bored him, because every time the teacher had started a new branch, Felipe had already known what was being taught. 

Don Alejandro chuckled. “I know, Felipe, and I know that was hard to endure. It wasn’t for that purpose that I sent you to school. It was for other purposes.” He leaned forward, fixing his gaze on the servant boy. “I want to find out, now, how well you’ve learned those other purposes. A long time ago, my boy, when I first started sending you there, you asked me why I was doing so. I told you then to trust me, and that I would explain my reasons to you someday. That day has come, and I fully intend to tell you. But first, I want you to tell me what you’ve learned on your own.” 

Felipe sat silently for the next few minutes, reflecting on his years at the mission school and what he had learned there. At last, he told his _patrón_ that they had taught him his catechism and several crafts. 

Don Alejandro nodded agreement. “ _Si,_ they have. You’ve learned the tenets of the faith, and you’ve learned how to weave baskets, mats, and toys; how to make pottery; how to make dyes; and how to carve. And judging from how well the sales came out, you learned how to make them well, I might add.” Felipe smiled. “I didn’t teach you those, so you had no occasion for boredom during those particular lessons.” Felipe smiled again, rubbing his neck. No, those lessons hadn’t bored him. They’d been fun! 

Don Alejandro cleared his throat, then rested his right hand in his lap. “There were other lessons I wanted you to learn there, too--lessons not on any of the curriculums. Think back, Felipe, and see if you can tell me what they were.” 

Again, Felipe thought back over the last five years. He thought about the friends he had made, even though he was deaf and mute, and how they had played together during recess and after school...and how the whole class had banded together at the end, to help Pablo. He thought about how the other peasant children had had to learn, for the first time, what Felipe and the _caballero_ children had already learned at home. 

_They don’t have their own books,_ Felipe thought, _so their parents can’t teach them. Their parents can’t read, either!_

He shared his reflections with Don Alejandro, who nodded approvingly. “That’s right, my boy. That’s exactly right.” He smiled, then looked sad. “The vast majority of peasant children don’t get to learn to read at all--only a minority do. And those who do, get that chance only because of the mission school. And even at the school, Felipe, they only learn as much as is considered suitable for a peasant to learn. Those who graduate can’t go to the university when they’re older, and they can’t enter a profession.” 

He paused, frowning. “True, a small number of graduates get to re-enter the school as boarders, as the orphans who live at the church year-round do, and as we hope Pablo will get to do. But even they only learn enough to know a little. Grammar, higher reading skills, spelling and handwriting, higher arithmetic, Spanish and colonial history and geography. They’ll be able to read the Bible in the vernacular, but not in Latin. Compared to the education that _caballeros_ get, that’s really not much.” 

Felipe nodded again, biting his lower lip. What Don Alejandro had just told him was so true. The aged _don_ went on, a somber look on his face, leaning sideways against the cushioned back of the satin-brocade couch. 

“And many of those who begin the school don’t finish it. They learn how to read, how to print, how to sign their names in cursive, then their parents pull them out. Because they’re needed too badly at home. And some don’t even get that far.” 

Felipe bit his lower lip again. Too true! He had seen that for himself. 

Don Alejandro leaned forward again. “That’s one of the lessons I wanted you to learn.” He touched Felipe’s arm. “I wanted you to be aware of the differences you have described for me. And I wanted you to have a chance to make friends--to mingle with other children--and you have. To learn to cope out in the world, not just in the safe haven of the de la Vega _hacienda_. It was hard for you to make friends, I know, because it was hard for you to communicate with the other children, and they with you. And although there were a few exceptions, you were afraid to try, in the beginning.” Felipe smiled wryly. He sure had been. 

His _patrón_ paused. “My late wife and I sent our son to the mission school for the same reasons I sent you, my boy. Doña Elena Felicidad and I didn’t need to send him there to make friends, because he was able to do that with no difficulty. But it was even more important that he learn those other lessons, because we wanted him to learn how poor people live. I made him do farm chores once a week, for the same reason, and my wife and I took him on regular trips to the tenants’ homes so he could get to know them and to see how they lived.” 

He smiled. “Someday, Felipe, this ranch will be Diego’s, and he will be responsible for our tenants, our servants, and our ranchhands. He will also be a leader of the community, with a leadership role among the _caballeros_. I want him to be compassionate with people who live in poverty, and to treat them with respect and kindness. I want him to be prepared to take a stand for the poor people of our community when the need arises. My wife, when she was alive, wanted the same things for him. And with our new _alcalde_ being the way he is, I regret to say that need has already arisen.” Felipe nodded, holding his left arm with his right hand, pursing his lower lip. Don Alejandro pressed his lips into a tight line of evident displeasure. 

Taking a deep breath, Don Alejandro paused again. His eyes softened. “I wanted you to learn those lessons as well, because even though you’re neither a _caballero_ nor a member of the family, as Diego is, my son and I have high hopes and big dreams for you.” The elderly _caballero_ smiled. “In spite of your deafness and mutism, _amigo,_ you will have a chance to go far in the world. To help disadvantaged people. To help right wrongs and injustices. You will need a good education to be able to do all that, Felipe, and you need to be fully aware of the way poor people live.” Felipe nodded again. 

Don Alejandro smiled again, and leaned forward to pat Felipe’s arm. The boy rested his left hand on his trouser-clad leg. “Already, you have taken steps to help one such person--Pablo. You and the other children have worked hard to help him regain his dream of an education, and with God’s help, you’ve succeeded. Tomorrow, the _padre_ and I will take 50 of the _pesos_ in this box to the _alcalde_ , so he’ll release Pablo’s father; then we’ll come get you and give the rest to the Santiagos. You have a sensitive, compassionate heart, Felipe, and for that, I’m proud of you. Never lose that caring heart, my boy. Always love the Lord with your whole being, and love your neighbor, as the Lord commands. Be prepared to help those who are in need.” 

He removed his timepiece from his vest pocket again and glanced at it. “And now, it’s time for supper, _amigo_. Tell Maria to just set a bowl of soup for me in my quarters, because after all the feasting, I’m not really hungry.” 

Felipe nodded acquiescence. He was beginning to understand what Don Alejandro was talking about. As he returned to the kitchen to deliver the _patrón’s_ message, he silently vowed to do what he could to help those who needed him. What form that help would take in the future, he had no idea. After supper, since he had no homework that night, he meant to go through his new presents in the Gomez hut, admiring them and playing with them. 

The next morning, Felipe waited in front of the fence as the carriage rattled down the road. Felipe watched it disappear over the horizon. _I can’t wait!_ he thought, fidgeting. _I can’t wait!_ A grin spread from ear to ear as he thought about Pablo’s impending surprise. 

As he re-entered the front garden to wait, a horrible thought smote the young servant boy. _What if the_ alcalde _won’t take it?_ he thought. _What if he says 50_ pesos _isn’t enough, and tries to make Señor Santiago pay more? Lots more?_ He made the sign of the cross. _Please, God, don’t let him do that!_

He gave a beseeching look at the tufts of clouds drifting overhead. Unable to sit still, he picked up a tree branch and pretended to cross swords with imaginary enemies. For a moment, he wished he could cross swords for real with the _alcalde_ himself, and run him through. When he stopped to wipe his face, the breeze caressed his cheeks and played with his hair. 

A half-hour after it had left, the carriage reappeared in the distance. As it drew closer, Felipe gazed at it intently. Could it be--did the seat have two passengers or three? The boy held his breath, watching intently until the carriage’s back became easier to see. 

Three! Felipe leaped for joy. It had three! 

_Yes!_ he thought. _It’s Señor Santiago! The_ alcalde _has released him! Thank You, God!_ Beaming, he made the sign of the cross. 

The carriage halted in front of the fence; Felipe climbed onto the driver’s seat, to act as footman when they arrived at the Santiago farm. He shifted his position sideways, to watch the aged _don’s_ lips. 

“Take us to the Santiago farm,” Don Alejandro ordered the driver. His eyes twinkled at Felipe; next to him, Señor Santiago beamed at the boy, his hands resting on a bulging leather bag in his lap. Behind the boy, Padre Bernardo sat on the cushioned seat facing the other two men. Felipe grinned in response. Don Alejandro and the priest must have given Señor Santiago what was left of the money, after paying his taxes. 

Turning around, Felipe faced the treeless horizon ahead as the driver flicked the reins; the horses started pulling the carriage again. All the way to the farm, the breeze cooled his face and his heart felt light. When they arrived, a teary-eyed Señora Santiago and a shouting Pablo rushed out of the hut to greet them, followed by several young children. Felipe climbed down to open the door for Don Alejandro and Señor Santiago; the latter hopped out of the carriage and rushed toward his wife and children. The breeze died down at that moment. 

“Papá!” Pablo threw himself into his father’s arms. “They let you go!” 

Sobbing, Pablo’s mother hugged her husband tightly. “I thought it would be months before they released you!” 

Smiling, Señor Santiago glanced at Felipe. “If it hadn’t been for Felipe and his schoolmates, it would have been. They raised money to get me out. My 50- _peso_ tax is paid, and here is more for us.” He held out the leather bag containing the 150 _pesos_ left over. “The children at school made all kinds of wares to sell. They sold them at the confirmands’ _fiesta_ yesterday. It was held at the de la Vega _hacienda_.” 

Exclaiming, his wife took the bag, opened it, and looked inside, then gave Felipe a grateful look. Smiling, Felipe wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and glanced at the scattered tufts of clouds drifting overhead. 

Pablo gulped. “Uh, Papá, does this mean--?” Felipe held his breath as he waited for the answer. 

Señor Santiago exchanged glances with the priest. “ _Si,_ my son. It does.” He smiled at his oldest son, who gazed up at him hopefully, then at the other children. “Tomorrow, the _padre_ will come out here to teach you--he wants to make sure know all you need to know. Then you’ll graduate.” 

Padre Bernardo nodded agreement. “And next fall, Pablo, after the harvest, you’ll enroll in the school as a boarder. You’ll learn more of what’s in the books, and you’ll learn a trade. You’ve been studying, haven’t you, those books I loaned you?” 

A beaming smile spread across the boy’s face. “ _Gracias, Padre._ _Si,_ I have. Every night.” He turned to Felipe. “And _gracias_ , Felipe! Tell the others _gracias_ , too.” Felipe nodded agreement. 

Don Alejandro glanced at his gold timepiece, gleaming in the sunlight. “Felipe and I must go now--we’ve got things to do. _Padre,_ do you want a lift back to the mission?” 

The priest shook his head. “I want to visit with the Santiagos for a while, and see where Pablo is, in his arithmetic lessons.” 

Nodding, Don Alejandro climbed back into the carriage. Felipe climbed back into the driver’s seat, next to the driver. “Then I’ll see you Sunday, when you come out to hold Mass,” the aged _don_ told the priest. The driver lifted the reins and spoke to the horses. 

As the carriage jolted away, Felipe smiled broadly. That day and the day before had been a time of rejoicing. _This is a great day!_ he thought. _Señor Santiago’s out of jail; Pablo’s going to go back to school; we’ve been confirmed; and we had a great_ fiesta _._ He grinned at the driver, who kept his gaze fixed straight ahead. _I can’t wait to get home! Now that school is over, I want to know what Don Alejandro and I are going to do next. I can’t wait till Don Diego gets home, so I can share all this with him!_

He gazed up again at the tufts of clouds drifting across the sky. Whatever the future brought, it had to be good! Especially since it wouldn’t be much longer, now, till Don Diego himself--whose name Felipe had picked for his confirmation name--graduated and came home. Felipe couldn’t wait for that!


End file.
